


The Prince

by Emeka



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I wrote this for a thing in high school, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, enjoy?, wow this is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21789757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Over time, a young boy loses everything he had known.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	The Prince

As prince of a kingdom, there was rarely reason to cry. His servants and parents loved him dearly, giving him every little thing, and even his brother was deeply admiring of him. Were the boy older, he might have felt anxious over the country's decline, with its growing number of enemies and unhappy citizens, but at his age, he had very little empathy or caring for anyone outside of his immediate group, as children tend to be.

War broke out near the end of the year, a result of skirmishes and arguments over territory and resources, spanning back for the last several decades. The boy knew of this vaguely, without any real understanding. Its only tangible effect on his was the maids, who seemed unusually terse, and not as willing to oblige him. 

It was of no matter. He played instead with his little brother, who was more than happy to tend to him. For most of each day, they'd amuse each other, involved in their childish games and oblivious to any outside happenings. 

Meals gradually became more scant, reduced to meager helpings of vegetables and stringy meat, with the rare bit of fruit. For the first time he felt his appetite go unsatisfied, which made him cranky in a way that everyone else's bad temper as of late hadn't.

A good deal of men left the castle, and even some females. The boy's own nursemaid left, leaving him a young girl that despite her pleasant appearance had little like, or patience for dealing with children. The boy quickly tired of her and retreated to his room, frightened somewhat by all the new people. 

At the end of one day, the boy promised his brother that he'd take him out to the woods; a small area not so many miles away, and easy enough to reach on carriage. It was a favorite place of theirs and not as secret as they liked to imagine, being actually quite over-looked by their parents, and a source of amusement to the castle guards, who took turns following the boys at a distance.

After their promise was made, the two cuddled together to sleep. The boy of course had his own room, but all the recent changes left him unsettled, and even more unwilling to go through the hallways at night. Besides, he was certain to be accosted by someone for being up so late, and he didn't quite feel up to a scolding.

Next morning found the younger brother sick with fever. The boy would have stayed even though it was such a nice day out, but a nurse kicked him out. After looking about and finding no other potential playmates, the boy decided to go out and amuse himself after all. 

He left unfollowed. A battle had broken out nearby the night before, and news of it had caused many to flee. Most of those remaining were called out to assist. 

It wasn't until nightfall that the boy decided to return home, his feet from chasing after deer and frightening off birds. He knew he could not draw them to him as his brother could, not being nearly so content to calmly wait, so he resigned himself with what he could do.

Returning, he noticed a very acrid smell, and an odd stillness in the air. Usually this close, he could hear the normal everyday sounds around the castle; horse hooves and carriage wheels over cobblestone, laughing and chattering--.

At the entrance, the castle entrance stood wide open.

Things were worse inside, the smell stronger, and the feeling of unease more overwhelming. He noticed things missing. The china vases, old but richly coloured rugs and curtains, expensive and handsome chairs. Moreover, what little remained was broken or torn in some way. Many of the coloured-glass panes were smashed.

The boy ran up to the second floor, to his brother's room. He went up a flight of stairs and rounded a corner into the appropriate hallway before coming to an abrupt stop, nearly tumbling over.

A young man stood before him, almost wholly unremarkable in appearance. His hair was a normal shade of brown, neither mousy nor chocolate, not too long or short. Simple blue eyes too, and common robes conservative both in fashion and colour and a tad threadbare, but in good condition besides. The only uncommon thing about him was his commoness.

In his arms, he held a small bundle, spotted with blood.

"This is yours," the man said drily but otherwise in an unextraordinary voice. "Many of the ones here are dying. So is your darling here."

"My darling," the boy weakly repeated. "Dying, what--"

"The soldiers will be here soon. We should leave, you and I. Come along."

The boy meekly grabbed the man's shirt, feeling some explanation was owed him. Of death, he knew very little, except that it meant someone was gone forever, and that other people were very sad when it happened. 

"If they're dying, shouldn't someone do something?"

"Even if someone was here, there'd be no helping them. Your darling still lies in my reach, but we must hurry."

The boy reluctantly followed, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. Out the castle they both went, and through the towns’ back alleys, until the boy complained of his hurting feet and fell asleep when the man grudgingly allowed him on his back.

He awoke what felt a short time later, with a jolt. He was in a small room --certainly a smaller bedroom than what he was used to-- and quite empty except for the lit candle on the bedside table. Beside him lay his brother, dressed in an over-sized cotton shirt. The boy carefully felt his cheek and then his chest, unnerved at the heat of the former and the erratic thumping from the other.

The door creaked open to reveal the man from earlier, now clothed in a simple, loose gown.

"You must have woken up when I set you down a bit ago. I went to get you bed sheets. How do you feel?"

The boy nodded shortly, and asked,” Where is this? What's happened?"

The man sat down on the edge of the bed, handing him a cover and the boy noted briefly and with dissatisfaction how thin and scratchy it was. "This is my house. Still within your kingdom, but far away enough. As for that, it was broken into when the battle ended. "

"I don't understand."

"Your parents are dead, child. When news spread of the loss, thieves broke in before the other army could. You are quite fortunate in your timing, managing to come between the two."

"And my brother?"

The man shrugged. "Many were injured very badly, but not outrightly killed. Probably they were meant to suffer. Your darling may be fine now, but he'd have bled to death very soon. He might heal, but I can't say how well. "

"And you?"

"What of me? I am a mage. I went to see what I could do when I heard."

"Who will take care of me now?" Having lived his entire life being taken care of, he expected it to stay that way. Still, the idea of not having his parents anymore was an idea that made his stomach tremble, and he didn't know any other relatives to care for him, besides.

"It doesn't matter to me if you do or don't, but--I'd be willing to shelter you," the man answered gruffly, standing up again. He eyed the boy almost defiantly. "I don't live with anyone else. The solitude is a bit much sometimes."

The boy nodded soundlessly. 

And so things went. The boy spent several days with the man, wandering occasionally through the small cabin and nearby shed, but staying mostly in his room to look after his brother. As his brothers' wounds healed he spent less time asleep, but was still not allowed to leave the bed. The boy amused him as well as he could, telling him about how things were outside (very warm but shady, and deliciously fragrant from the herb garden), as well as what the man was like, as the man only went to se the ill child to look him over.

Although, the boy did not often see the man either. The man had a separate room to himself, and another as a study room, which he left only to sleep, cook, or prepare whatever medicine as needed. 

A few weeks went by, and his brother was well enough to get out of bed. The trauma seemed to lessen his natural health, turning him delicate, and squashed what little wilderness there was in his disposition. He liked the fresh air outside, but never had strength or desire to go further than the bench beside the door. It seemed to the boy that his brother had been made into a sickly doll and for the first time in his life, he felt earnest, bitter anger. 

But as spring declined so did his brother's health, ending in fever at the start of summer. The boy did not initially cry --far too shocked-- and instead stood by as the man dug up a small grave in the back. He stayed silent through the entire ceremony, shaking his head when the man asked him if he had anything he'd like to say. When time came to fill the grave back up there was still nothing to say. He did not know precisely what he felt, except very quiet and tired. His chest ached. 

He was not nearly as upset when his parents died, and the reason for that was something that he'd never be able to fully articulate, even if he did become an adult. In a way, dying for his parents was fine, because they were older, his guardians. That they died, he considered a sort of heroic sacrifice for him. If either of the siblings died, it should have been him. Because the older protects the younger. Being unable to do so made him a failure, both as a human and a big brother. Surely, if they had died instead of their parents, his parents would have felt the same grief as he did now.

Time went by. Already the temperature seemed to be climbing higher, but the boy hardly noticed. Every day he went out to his brother's grave, marking it with twigs and sticks, lest he somehow forget. He stayed for hours, face pressed against the still moist grass. The man silently brought him meals, but they went almost wholly uneaten. He didn't notice the hungry cramping of his stomach and even when the sun shone is' brightest, his faintness and dizzy spells weren't registered. Sometimes he was forced to drink, but the cool liquid pouring down his throat was also--something he didn't notice.

He lost himself for days or weeks. Something that did finally get through to him, on a day just like the others, was the feeling of being forcibly lifted. And that made him react, twisting and kicking to get free. But the fingers dug in and hurt his ribs where he'd been grabbed, like the bones were going to snap.

He obediently went still, whimpering slightly. 

“Don’t you think it’s about time to stop this?”

The man shook him lightly, as if to prompt him. Another few seconds of silence, and the man carried him inside the house. There, the boy was forced to drink and eat. Being awoken made him thirstier than he would have believed and the first cup of water, which he drank too quickly despite the warning given him, ended up being vomited back up.

"Are you through now?"

The boy nodded uncommittedly. He felt calm, but differently than before. Before, he was merely empty. This was a good calm, sort of a relievement. "I don't have a family anymore."

"Most people don't," the man replied dismissively, waving his hand. "Are you through now? You've had plenty of time to grieve."

"You're mean," the boy weakly replied. He wished the man was kinder. A kinder person would understand how he felt, that it was best to leave him alone. A kinder person wouldn't treat his brother like he was trivial.

"Perhaps. I don't really know how to treat children."

And for years, that was that. A new king and his family took over the country in short order, ruling easily and effectively. The boy was as dimly aware of these things as always, giving them no real heed. It made no difference to him now.

He spent all of his free time learning to make-do for himself in ordinary household tasks, and studying on the side. He found the man to be a good teacher, if somewhat biased on giving certain lessons more often and more thoroughly. And so the boy learned primarily in philosophy, theology, and literature, with very little idea of numbers and culture outside their secluded area. His role in the house expanded as he learned, making him a sort of student-wife. Along with the lessons, he fixed the mans' clothing, cooked his meals, and cleaned his house. Not a bad way to live, over all.

One day in the early morning, the boy asked him who his master had been. He was somewhat curious about whoever had taught the man.

"Just a man I was quite fond of. He used to work at your castle before you were even born. He spoke affectionately of the place, so you see..."

"And that's the only reason you saved me?" He was a little disappointed, but he supposed there really was no such thing as a simple good Samaritan these days.

"Don't speak so harshly. Where would you be if I hadn't saved you?"

He ignored the question. "So, you liked your master? What sort of man was he?"

"An earnest Zeus, a kind Nero, to me, his Sporus. Besides, what does it really matter? Life isn't a story that answers every question." The man walked off laughing, and the boy watched him go, feeling quite mystified.

He still visited his brothers' grave every day, bringing a small arrangement of herbs and flowers. He stayed for as long as an hour each time, even in the numbing cold. The man told him it was foolish to be so tied to the past, and probably he was right. But it's hard to let go of some things. And so funny to think that if he had stayed in that day, he would likely be dead as well.

Shortly after turning sixteen, the boy began his last day.

The way it started may have said something as to the seriousness of the situation. All these years, the boy was accustomed to waking up and finding the main room empty. He would fix breakfast from whatever was on hand -- he didn't personally care what, and the man wasn't picky -- and after serving a plate, ate his half alone in his room.

The man was up already, looking expectant. He was still in his nightclothes (and usually did until a little after lunch), which the boy regarded with some amused love. He had tired of that stupid gown and insisted on cleaning and patching it up, until it looked nearly new. It was harder to get accepted, bu he'd even been able to add some lace and ribbon at the sleeves and hem. A little cutesy certainly, like something a small child would wear, but his brother used to wear one just like it.

The boy and man sat at the couch together, side-by-side, shoulders slightly touching. The atmosphere between them felt hesitant and tense, making the boy wary. Any interaction between them was quick and decisive--certainly not loaded with this much emotion.

"Do you like living with me?" the man asked suddenly, gazing determinedly straight ahead. The boy glanced briefly at him, then looked away with a nod. He concentrated on a corner of the room and noticed, with a faint tinge of disgust, a film of dust on the floor. He always missed corners and under-spaces when he swept.

"You don't seem very happy."

The boy considered it. Ever since -- that time -- he never felt anything too intensely, good feelings or bad. The calm of contentment felt the same as that of resignation. 

The boy eventually shrugged, watching a small spider with spindly legs scurry across the table in front of him.

"You miss your brother."

"What exactly do you want?"

"When things happen," the man awkwardly began, "sometimes there is no choice but to accept it. That's something I should accept by now, as well." A trace of a sad smile entered his voice. "Do you really think this is the first time I've saved you?"

"First?" the boy doubtfully repeated. The spider paused, looking somehow contemplative with one of its' legs still half-way raised. The boy considered killing it; it wouldn't take much, just a quick press of the thumb. Because when spiders give birth, they give birth to hundreds. He had read that somewhere, or maybe the man told him.

"But it was never right, you see. I didn't want you to die, but I didn't want you to be unhappy, either. ...you realize what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"I guess." Somewhat. But it was ridiculous and somehow still believable. The man rarely kidded with him and this conversation felt like one he'd had before, many many times. "And now? What do you plan to do now?"

"I can send you back. If you want."

"I can see brother?" the boy asked, feeling a surge of warmth. 

"Certainly. That boy seems fated to die--I've never been able to save him, no matter how hard I try. It might be your fate to pass with him. What do you think?"

"I'd like that."

"I'm sure it'll be hard, waiting to die."

"It doesn't matter." He leaned forward slightly and gently killed the spider with his palm. It wriggled momentarily against his hand before being crushed flat. 

The two sat in silence for a time, the boy feeling that there was something he should say-- something one of them ought to say -- but couldn't quite grasp it. This lasted until the man suddenly stood and returned to his room, which the boy took as a signal to return to their normal routine.

Later that day, nearly at night, the man brought him into his study and undressed his down to his underwear brought out a deep wooden bowl afterwards, filled with some dark, primordial ooze. This he used to mark the boys body with old runes, a few which the boy recognized from his lessons. He would have been able to figure them, maybe even get a rough translation, but the ooze secreted a strong perfumery smell that made his head dizzy. It felt like ooze, just as gross as it looked, slimy and squishy.

They finished an hour later, when the boy's entire body was covered. 

"Anything to say? This is the last time we'll see each other, in this time or any other."

The boy thought a moment and then shook his head. The man nodded and kissed his cheek despite the gunk, an affectionate gesture so alien to him that the boy jerked back in surprise.

"So, you're ready."

Without waiting for an answer, the man kissed him again, carefully on the lips. The boy accepted it, and closed his eyes. A slow drowsiness came over him, his body burning and itching, He felt as though he was moving though something thick, like falling or tumbling. He itched just so bad all over, in little red pinpricks of irritating bites.

He fell asleep--at least, it was the easiest way to explain it, much more pleasant sounding than falling unconscious.

His first thought on wakening was that of birth. He was new again and so small--he hadn't expected his body to become appropiately smaller for his age at this time. Or maybe he had taken the 'place' of his self. His wrists were so tiny and everything towered over him. His hair still had the white-blonde colour before it would darken in the following years.

After he finished admiring himself, he went to see his brother.

The nurse scolded him briefly for coming back, but went easily enough after being reasured that he only wanted to look after his brother a minute or so. Wouldn't even touch him! As she left, the door closing behind her, he snuggled into bed beside his brother. Awfully high temperature, warm and comfortable. If the nurse came back and insisted he leave, he decided he would throw a fit.

Hours passed. She didn't return. After a while, he thought she probably booked it.

Hours passed. He dozed off, waking with a start to a crashing noise downstairs. He tried to relax even though his heart was pounding wildly in his throat. Trembling slightly, he pulled his brother closer, nestling his cheek against his. The ruckus below grew with sounds of breaking glass and things being knocked over. Men laughed and jeered, and young woman screamed, don't touch me--.

He waited.


End file.
